


The Three Steps of Submission

by s0mmerspr0ssen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Dom/sub, Dominance and Submission, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0mmerspr0ssen/pseuds/s0mmerspr0ssen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock plans to patiently and gently assert his dominance over John in the bedroom. Naturally, it will only be a matter of time until his partner learns to comply and simply enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Three Steps of Submission

**Author's Note:**

> **Contains** : Consent Issues/Dubious Consent
> 
> This reads/might read as manipulation on Sherlock's part, which can be a trigger for people. 
> 
> I did not plan to write it as such, and some people have told me they find it consensual enough, but I see where others are coming from as well. I know consent issues are my own preference in fic, so I might also very well have a skewed view. 
> 
> Please beware if you know this affects you.

Dr. John H. Watson believed in responsibility.

Whenever you make a decision, no matter how small or inconsequential it might seem, you take on the responsibility for the outcome of your choice.

If you say something, you know that your words will be heard and interpreted. If you do something, you know your actions will be acknowledged and judged. If you choose to ignore an issue, your idleness will be noticed and felt.

It's as easy as that.

John had made many decisions in his life: small ones - which one of his jumpers to wear, whether or not a second cup of tea would be beneficial - and big ones - which man to stitch up first on the battlefield, whether or not to shoot a man in order so save another one's life.

His choices came with responsibility. John knew and accepted that.

However, for John, this rule only applied whenever _other_ people were the recipients of the immediate repercussions of his choices. As soon as his actions affected other people directly, John knew it was _his_ decision to make, _his_ duty to step up and stand up for what he had or hadn't done.

But in case the choice would only affect himself, John was willing - and _glad_ \- to give up the responsibility in certain circumstances.

Of course, and that was something John could freely admit, John would have never known about this exception if it hadn't been for one Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock had shown John the beauty of leaving your choices to somebody else.

Naturally, the path to that particular enlightenment had been long and difficult. But then, John had never been the kind of man to turn down a challenge.  
_____

"Kiss me."

Up until now, Sherlock would have happily obliged.

Swiftly and without hesitation, Sherlock would have leaned over, would have placed his own full lips on the other, thinner ones, would have licked and prodded before slipping into the hot moistness that was John, _his_ John, to explore what had already been explored dozens of times.

They would just lie here, on the sofa in 221B, lips placed on the other's mouth, a playful dance of kissing and being kissed.

But tonight, Sherlock had decided, their relationship would finally start changing.

Sherlock had been waiting for it, had been wanting their dynamics to be taken to the next level ever since John had accepted and acted on his feelings for his flatmate.

It was time.

Time to show John what he truly needed, what deep down, he wanted and desired. It was time for Sherlock to take the lead.

"No," he replied easily and John's smile faltered, wrinkles of concern forming around his eyes until Sherlock continued. "How about _you_ kiss _me_."

John's eyes shone brighter almost instantly.

"Of course," he breathed and closed the distance, carefully entwining his tongue with Sherlock's.

Sherlock knew he had to keep it light, to take it slow. If he pushed too hard, John would panic and back away. Sherlock didn't want to ruin what they had. Quite on the contrary: he wanted to make it perfect, _complete_.

So they kissed.

At first, Sherlock let John have almost complete control. John would determine how long the kiss would last, John would decide how deep they would kiss, anything but _when_ it started.

It was the first thing John had to give up in order for Sherlock's plan to work: _initiation_.

Only one week later, John had started adapting and waited for any kind of cue from Sherlock before leaning in for a peck, a smack, a kiss. Sherlock was careful to keep an eye on John, to deduce when the other man felt like pressing his lips against Sherlock's mouth or skin.

In the beginning, Sherlock would quickly initiate a kiss almost any time John felt like it. After all, if he didn't _need_ to demand the affection, if the kisses were given freely, why would he bother to claim them? Just like any other human being, John was determined to go the path of minimal effort - perfect for what Sherlock had in mind.

By the end of the third week, Sherlock was ready to test the success of his careful conditioning.

John had stepped into his personal space to grab for a dirty bowl sitting close to where Sherlock was mixing drops of chemicals in a petri dish. John was doing the washing-up as a part of his Sunday cleaning routine. As he was leaning down, their faces aligned almost perfectly for a kiss.

Sherlock could see John's eyes move downward only to stop where Sherlock's mouth was moving a bit, no doubt looking soft and inviting. Unconsciously, the very tip of John's pink tongue slipped past his closed lips and his eyes widened a fraction.

_Desire._

Sherlock simply looked back, his face a mask of indifference. No passion, no attraction, no sign that he felt like kissing the man in return.

A few seconds later, John simply picked up the bowl and stepped away from Sherlock, without going through with what he had definitely had in mind.

Focusing back on his experiment, Sherlock smiled.

The first hurdle had been taken.  
_____

Slowly but surely, Sherlock expanded the unspoken rule of no initiation to other areas of their sexual relationship. About a month later, John wouldn't touch him, wouldn't even proposition him without some kind of invitation from Sherlock.

Sherlock made sure those invitations were still frequent and could also be of different natures. After all, he didn't want to create a cold, unaffectionate relationship between them, dominated by barked orders. Sherlock wasn't a drill sergeant and John wasn't his subordinate.

Therefore, there was, of course, the direct, vocal approach.

"Touch me, John."

"Right there, John."

"Hold on tight, John."

But then, there were far more subtle clues, as well. Quiet demands that John would soon learn to comply with, completely without questioning.

Sherlock, tilting back his head to expose his neck.

Sherlock, lightly spreading his legs to invite more action.

Sherlock, moving his eyes to the areas he wanted to be worshipped.

John slipped into his role as easily as a if he had been waiting for it his whole life. He probably had. Sherlock doubted anyone had ever taken care of John's true needs and desires.

"Mhm, John," he hummed one night, thoroughly enjoying the way John's tongue was currently stroking over his cock's shaft, applying the perfect amount of pressure that send warm, pleasant tingles through Sherlock's body.

He was all but sprawling on the bed, long legs dangling off the side, with John kneeling on the floor in between them to have better access. Feeling it was time for another test, Sherlock lifted his legs and drew them in a bit, moving his hips in the process so his backside was lifting off the bed some more - practically the broadest of hints, but slightly different.

John didn't necessarily enjoy placing his mouth _there_. It was something he was quite uncomfortable with, Sherlock knew, for understandable reasons. It was, after all, not the most appealing or hygienic place of a human's body. Of course, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Sherlock's cleanliness. Clearly, it was the thought that counted.

John caught on to what Sherlock was asking of him almost immediately.

Giving Sherlock's erection a last, languid stroke, John moved lower, briefly nipping the soft skin around Sherlock's balls with his lips before slipping his tongue in between Sherlock's buttocks, seeking out the sensitive muscle.

Sherlock moaned in triumph.  
_____

Clearly, John was ready for another lesson - a lesson in _altruism_.

No doubt, John was a selfless kind of person. He loved to be helpful and didn't necessarily expect rewards for his actions. As a doctor, helping and caring, simply for his patient's good, was a matter of course. That behaviour extended to his private life. Whenever he was making tea and on the rare occasions he felt like cooking, providing for Sherlock as well without being asked to was second nature to him.

Now, Sherlock simply had to make sure that John embraced this particular character trait in the bedroom.

It wasn't that John was a selfish lover, not at all. Ever since the beginning, even before Sherlock had slowly started taking over, John had made sure that all of Sherlock's needs were met, that Sherlock was enjoying himself.

But Sherlock wanted more. Sherlock wanted John to be able, to be _willing_ to pleasure _Sherlock_ for hours, endlessly even, and to completely forget about his own desires in the process. Sherlock wanted John to put Sherlock first in everything.

John had already given up initiating any kind of action with Sherlock unless Sherlock wanted him to. Now, John would have to learn to stand back, to deny himself what would usually feel only natural.

Ultimately, his self-denial would only lead to greater pleasure, of course: the pleasure of pleasing Sherlock. And Sherlock had no desire to deny John sexual relief or enjoyment all together - that thought wasn't appealing at all. What counted was that John was, in fact and in theory, willing and ready to give up his own satisfaction if Sherlock really felt it was necessary.

"You're so tight, John," Sherlock gasped, his cock buried deeply into John, whose face was illuminated by the moonlight shining through the room's window. John's old room was much more suitable for sex on full moon nights. "So _perfect_..."

Clenching his buttocks around Sherlock in response, John's left hand moved, itching towards his own leaking erection.

Sherlock didn't miss the motion.

"Don't," he said, not too sharply. It was an order, but an affectionate one.

John's eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze. Even with limited amounts of light, Sherlock could see genuine confusion mix with the signs of pleasure on his face. John had always stroked himself while Sherlock was pushing into him. He was clearly wondering what had changed.

"Mhm?" he hummed questioningly, but his hand had stopped, resting on his stomach close to his navel.

"Don't touch yourself," Sherlock clarified, then pulled back.

John shuddered. He hesitated for a long moment, fingers idly brushing over the soft hair on his belly, clearly tempted to go against Sherlock's wishes and touch himself regardlessly. Sherlock, cock half-way withdrawn, stopped breathing in anticipation.

Finally, after half a minute of excruciatingly long contemplation, John removed his hand and curled it into the bed sheets. Acceptance, obedience - _wonderful._

Almost sighing a breath of relief, Sherlock pushed into John with passionate, determined movements. John was soon writhing on the sheets, clearly seeking for the friction he was so used to receiving at this point.

"Sherlock," he sighed, wonderfully breathless, fingers grabbing at the fabric underneath as if his life depended on it.

Not once, it seemed, did the thought cross John's mind that he should touch himself after all. A wave of euphoria brought Sherlock over the edge, much sooner than he would normally have climaxed.

"Good, John," he whispered, carefully pulling out and brushing a loving thumb over his partner's cheeks. "You're being _so_ good."

John laughed a quiet laugh, clearly only half-grasping the implications in Sherlock's statement. On some level, John already had to realise that Sherlock had taken control, that Sherlock was making the rules, but for now, John was going along without truly understanding that he was submitting, even though he was doing it so willingly, so naturally.

 _Soon_ , Sherlock thought and after another minute of delay, only interrupted by a long, adoring kiss for the man who was doing so very well indeed, he encircled John's erection with long, clever fingers.

After only two strokes, John came as loud and as hard as never before.

Had Sherlock needed evidence that his theory was correct, he would have found it in the moans of utter bliss echoing from the walls.  
_____

At some point, almost five months into the process of showing John his true and desirable position, denying himself had become a natural thing for John.

Taking Sherlock in his mouth alone, feeling the man shudder in delight, was enough to make him hard and aching, pre-cum dripping down the length of his cock. Sherlock loved the look of abandon and indulgence on John's face whenever he was giving the highest of pleasures to Sherlock, eyes closed and cheeks flushed as if it was he himself on the receiving end.

It wasn't that John hadn't enjoyed pleasuring Sherlock all those months ago, when Sherlock hadn't been in charge yet. If he hadn't he would never have entered into a relationship with Sherlock in the first place, that much was obvious. But the enjoyment had risen to a completely new level.

Now, John was nearly close to orgasm simply because Sherlock was climaxing himself, simply because he was spilling his seed into John's eager mouth. Touching himself had almost become completely unnecessary for John.

Breathing through the aftermath of his orgasm, Sherlock realised that John was ready for the last step: _self-abandonment._  
  
Unlike step two, which had mainly been about understanding that Sherlock's pleasure was also his own in a way, and that putting Sherlock first would ultimately be for his own benefit as well, the last step was about completely letting go. It was about trusting Sherlock, about giving up control and responsibility.

Up until now, John had always or at least partly been in control. He had hardly ever used it, had slowly but surely submitted to whatever Sherlock had wished without asking about his motives or reasons, but the process of submission would only be truly complete once John understood _and_ embraced that he was truly and undeniably Sherlock's, without any limits or regulations.

John would have to understand that Sherlock would entirely be in charge, but that that wasn't dangerous or harmful or, God forbid, a weakness on his part. Really, if Sherlock thought about it, truly and entirely submitting to another person's will would rather be a sign of the admirable strength John held.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered, pulling John up and hugging him to his chest, feeling the other man's heart pounding through his ribcage.

John's hardness was pressing into Sherlock's thigh, but the act was entirely without demand. John was clearly happy to be snuggling up to Sherlock for a while without being touched. However, Sherlock knew that John was confident that at some point, Sherlock _would_ give in anyway and give him what he needed.

This time, Sherlock would push it. It was the only the way to make John _really_ understand.

"Of course," John replied, breath hot against Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock could feel him smiling, clearly tempted to nibble at Sherlock's chest, but not giving in because Sherlock wasn't giving him any hint that the action would be welcome at the moment. What a long way they had come.

"Leave, then," Sherlock said, placing a hand in John's neck and pulling at his hair, encouraging him to lift his head and lock eyes with Sherlock. "Go. Sleep upstairs. Sleep but don't touch yourself."

Blinking a few times, John opened his mouth only to close it again. He was clearly confused about Sherlock's statement and trying to find any logic in the request.

"Why?" he asked eventually, sounding a tad angry, which was only to be expected.

Sherlock's wish sounded a lot like rejection, as if John wasn't welcome by his side anymore.

Of course, nothing was further from the truth. Sherlock had never loved anybody as much as he loved John and the instances when he would lie in bed with John in his arms, occasionally even sleeping when he wasn't on a case, were some of the most precious moments he had ever experienced in his life.

"Because I say so," Sherlock told him.

John recoiled almost instantly.

"Because you _say so_ ," he spat, sitting up and bringing some space in between the two of them, separating every last patch of skin.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed, piercing his partner with steady eyes.

This was the ultimate test. There was no sense in Sherlock's request but his desire that John would do as he wished, no matter whether or not Sherlock's wish seemed sensible. If John failed to take the last step, clearly their relationship was meant to fail. Sherlock knew John and John could only be happy if he realised that what he needed and enjoyed was true sexual submission. Submitting entirely to Sherlock.

John, however, didn't seem to grasp the concept.

"Fine," he snapped, sounding hurt and covering it with self-righteous anger. "Fine. I'll leave."

Bowing down, he grabbed for his discarded clothes, his face scrunched-up.

"And don't worry about the _touching_. I'm not in the mood any longer."

John left banging the door behind him and loudly stomped up the stairs and into his old room, kicking the door upstairs shut like a stubborn toddler with what sounded like an infuriated snarl.

Sherlock placed a hand over his face where he was lying alone, a hard knot of anxiety building in his stomach.  
_____

They didn't talk for a week.

John gave him the cold shoulder and wouldn't even meet his eyes most of the times, going out for frequent walks and meetings with friends in order to avoid having to interact with Sherlock in any way.

By the end of the seventh day, Sherlock was ready to go down on his knees to beg for John's forgiveness. Constantly being rejected by the man he loved so very deeply was something Sherlock was not used to, something that hurt more than anything he had ever experienced.

He might have gone and actually pleaded with John, no matter what that would mean for their relationship, had it not been for the incident that confirmed everything Sherlock had ever deduced and thought he knew about John.

Sherlock had come home earlier than expected from a meeting with Lestrade, helping the Yard catch a gang of mafiosi that had been terrorizing London for the better part of two years. From the bathroom, the sound of the shower caught Sherlock's immediate attention.

John never took a shower in the middle of the day unless he was filthy from one of their chases or confrontations.

Clearly, something was up and Sherlock's heart made an uncomfortable jump at the thought what that activity might be. Up until now, Sherlock had still had the hope that John hadn't gone against his orders. Even though he hadn't been talking to Sherlock, there was still the possibility that he had complied with Sherlock's _orders_ and not touched himself in those cold, lonely nights up in his old bedroom.

As long as John was obeying, no matter how defiant the rest of his attitude, anything was still possible. The submission John was craving was mostly sexual in the first place, so snubbing Sherlock outside of the bedroom was not necessarily a sign for his unwillingness to take the last step.

Still. How probable was that scenario?

It had been too long. Sherlock hadn't gone this long without seeing, without touching John's body since they had admitted their mutual attraction. With a determined intake of breath, Sherlock moved towards the bathroom door with long, determined strides.

He would never forget the sight that greeted him upon entering.

John, one hand and his forehead pressed against the cold bathroom tiles in the shower, hot water running down his bare back, was squeezing his eyes shut, his free hand curled into the flesh of his right thigh.

He was sporting a painfully obvious and almost angrily red erection, the head nearly purple with pressure and denied relief, but John wasn't touching himself. The fingers of his free hand were all but abusing the leg they were curled around, turning the skin white and pale as the blood flow was interrupted.

It took Sherlock the embarrassing amount of two and half a seconds to realise that John was crying, yes, _sobbing_ , shoulders shaking in the process.

Sherlock was by his side in almost no time, one hand reaching out to switch off the water, the other gently curling around John's shoulder.

John jerked and made a half-turn, clearly oblivious to Sherlock's presence up  until now. His eyes were swollen and red-rimmed when they found Sherlock's gaze, desperation and sorrow evident in his every feature.

"Sherlock," he gasped and without another word, Sherlock pulled him out of the shower and close, until John's face was pressed into Sherlock's neck.

Wetness was seeping through Sherlock's clothes almost instantly but he didn't care or mind. He was slowly stroking John's soaked hair, pressing a rough kiss onto the man's scalp, breathing in the scent he had been craving for the past days. All that mattered at the moment was comforting John until he was ready to give an explanation for what a part of Sherlock's brain had already marked as complete and final success.

"I- I wanted to do it, you know? I really wanted to."

It took Sherlock a moment to decipher the mumbling and he carefully pried John's face away from him, cupping one of his cheeks with his free hand while the other arm was still holding John up, hugging him close. John was avoiding his gaze.

Only in the very back of his mind he noticed that John's cock was still fully erect, caught as it was in between their warm and wet bodies.

"But you're in my head!" John sounded almost accusing and he had raised his voice. "You're in my head, telling me not to be _selfish_ , telling me to wait for you, telling me to go and _apologise_ , for fuck's sake. You've kicked me out of _our bed_ for _no_ reason! I don't have to apologise to you!"

"You don't," Sherlock confirmed in a soothing tone of voice.

John looked up at him, questions over questions evident on his face, eyebrows furrowed.

"Why can't I do it, then? Why do I feel like I don't have the _right_ to go against your... your... your _order_? What's _wrong_ with me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled softly at him, placing the softest of kisses on John's mouth. The man didn't protest, lips trembling but not parting in invitation. Sherlock didn't expect them to. John was having a sort of identity crisis.

"There's absolutely _nothing_ wrong with you, John. You're just starting to understand who you are. _What_ you are."

John looked away, cheeks flushing delicately.

"What I am? What am I, Sherlock? Some slut? Some slave that can't get off without his master's consent?"

Anger welling up almost instantly, Sherlock caught John's chin, forcing him to look at Sherlock once more.

"I don't _ever_ want to hear you speak like that again," he hissed, furious on his partner's behalf and John's eyes widened almost comically in response. "You're _not_ a slut, _nor_ a slave. You're _mine_ , but you're a person, and precious to me. And _what_ you are is obvious: you're in love with me, John. Just as much as I'm in love with you. To hell with conventions, we don't need them. This is how we are, this is how we _work_."

He paused, making sure he had John's full attention.

"In the last couple of months you have submitted to me. Our dynamics have changed, slowly but inevitably. You _need_ me to guide you, just as much as I need you to follow my lead. You were happy, weren't you?"

Sherlock waited for John's confirming nod. His partner's agitation had nearly fully vanished, leaving him with a look of surprise and slight awe. Sherlock saw his chance.

"You complying with my orders in spite of our argument just shows how deeply you feel. You're still you, John. Maybe this is scary, maybe it's frightening, but it's _fine_. I love you like this and you were content. I wouldn't want you any other way. _I love you._ "

And with that, Sherlock kissed him, properly this time, tongue seeking tongue, and John responded eagerly, moaning into the contact that had been denied for a whole week. John's cock twitched against Sherlock's belly, definitely interested in what was happening.

"I love you, too," John said breathlessly once they had parted.

Sherlock smiled at him, widely, trying to show him just how much John meant to him. John, who looked absolutely beautiful with his light hair stuck to the wet skin of his face and neck.

"Do you trust me?" he echoed last week's question.

And just like last week, John nodded, only this time he was _sure_ and he _knew_. He knew where he was standing, what Sherlock's and his relationship was supposed to be like and he was accepting it, embracing it really. Sherlock kissed him again.

"Good."

Pushing John against the nearest bathroom wall, Sherlock kneeled down in one elegant motion and took John into his mouth. He sucked once, twice and just like that, John came almost violently, brokenly shouting out Sherlock's name. His cock throbbed and twitched when a week's worth of pressure finally came undone.

Sherlock swallowed eagerly, brushing his dark curls against John's stomach and humming happily when John took the hint and ran his fingers through them, obviously careful not to pull at the hair.

"Mine," Sherlock said, pressing a kiss onto John's thigh where angry red marks spoke of the amount of pressure with which John's denying hand had curled into it.

"Yours," John replied, slowly sliding down the tiles until he was sitting on the floor in front of Sherlock.

They embraced almost instantly.

Later, much later, Sherlock slowly picked him up and rubbed him dry with a soft towel, very much like a mother would do for her sick or sleepy child.

John was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and didn't resist when Sherlock cleaned him up, dressed him in one of John's pajamas and wrapped him into the warm blankets on Sherlock's bed.

Snuggling up to John, Sherlock settled down beside him, tucking John's head into his chest, burying his face into John's soft hair. John sighed softly in response, mind drifting away.

Sherlock, however, didn't intend to sleep.

Watching John seemed to be quite enough.  
_____

Dr. John H. Watson believed in true love.

It was undeniable that Sherlock's and his relationship was hardly conventional, hardly the material of which love stories were made. But then, when had the world's only consulting detective and his best friend and partner ever given into convention in the first place?

It had taken a while and lots of reassurement on Sherlock's part, but by now, John was completely and irrevocably comfortable with the dynamics of their relationship.

Outside of the bedroom, nothing much had changed. Sherlock was moody and unpredictable in between cases, almost unbearably so, and John still had fits over severed fingers in his favourite tea cups and eye-balls in the kitchen sink. On a case, Sherlock would still jump into dangerous situations without thinking it through like the mad genius he was, and John would follow him instantly, trying to keep them both alive.

But at night, Sherlock's kisses and embraces made him feel good and happy and safe and _loved_ and following Sherlock's lead in anything sexual seemed almost as natural, as _right_ , as following him through the city of London, hot on a crazy criminal's heel. At night, Sherlock was responsible for John's well-being and satisfaction and it felt good, not having to worry or think, to simply comply and enjoy.

In the bedroom, John didn't have to worry about making right or wrong choices. Sherlock had taken that burden away from him, which felt freeing and left him to simply enjoy what Sherlock was willing to give.

John hadn't known that he needed this until he had it, but it was good the way it was now.

He had never been happier.

______  
 _fin._


End file.
